The Room with the Second-Best View (10 page)

“I don't see her yet,” Heath said from above.

Forest shielded his eyes with his free hand and looked down the length of the street. No sign of Fern. She'd been gone a long time.

“Maybe she got the job.”

Confident in the sturdiness of the branch, he let go of the trunk and walked toe-to-toe outward until the surface narrowed and began to quiver beneath him. Then he dropped down to straddle the bark-covered limb.

Above him, Heath's stomach rumbled. “I wish she'd hurry. I'm hungry.”

“You're always hungry.” Though Forest's innards were starting to feel empty too. When Fern came to get them, they were going down to the Whistlestop to get a burger. They couldn't go to the drugstore for ice cream on account of Fern's getting fired from there, which was why she had to go to detention.

To take his mind off his hunger, he slipped his arms out of his backpack and swung it around. An unaccustomed heaviness dragged at his shoulders.

“Hey, look what I got.” He unzipped the backpack and opened it to display the contents.

Heath leaned over his branch and peered down. “You got paper.”

“Yeah, but look what kind.” He pulled out a piece and held it up so his brother could read the printed section at the top.

“You got paper that has Goose Creek Animal Clinic on it.” Heath shrugged. “So you gotta draw on the back where there ain't no writing.”

“I'm not gonna draw on this paper.” Forest returned the crisp white sheet to his backpack. “I'm gonna save it.”

“For what?”

Forest shrugged. “Whatever.”

He wasn't sure what use he'd find for a thick stack of the animal clinic's letterhead, but taking it had been too big a temptation. Especially when he had permission, so he wasn't even stealing. Someday he'd think of something to do with it.

“Hey!” Heath's excited shout reached him. “There she is.”

Sure enough, Fern had just rounded the corner down the street. At the rate she was walking, he figured they had about four minutes before she arrived.

“We gotta be quick.” He slung his backpack around, slipped his arms into the straps, and started the downward climb. “You still got the stuff, right?”

“Course I do.”

Forest hung from the bottom branch by his arms and dropped the last six feet to the ground, Heath a few seconds behind him. They ran for the building, where Forest halted with his hand on the door handle.

“Okay,” he instructed in a hoarse whisper, “I'll distract Mom while you hide the dog treats in the cat room and the catnip in the dog room. Be sure to hide everything good so the people won't see 'em.”

Heath covered his mouth and giggled. “I hope there's some cats in there when the dogs go looking for those treats. Wish we could be there to see the ruckus.”

“Are you kidding?” Forest asked. “Mom would know for sure who did it, and she'd kill us.” He grinned at his brother. “But it sure is gonna be funny.”

Chapter Seven

M
illie turned carefully in the car seat and accepted the hand Albert offered to help her stand. Her right wrist, protected by its brace and resting in a pretty, frilly sling Violet had made for her, felt much better this morning. Unless she moved it, of course.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Concern showed on Albert's face as he steadied her on the sidewalk in front of the Freckled Frog.

“I'm fine,” she assured him for the fifth time in as many minutes. “I'm not planning to run a marathon. I'm only going to pop in and give Frieda an update, and then I'll join you over at the soda fountain.”

He leaned into the car and retrieved the inflatable donut.

“Put that thing away,” Millie whispered, glancing up and down the street to see if anyone had noticed. She loathed the necessity for the thing, and after Lulu's assumption yesterday, she wanted no one to mistake the reason for its use.

Albert's eyebrows arched. “You're going to stand the whole time?”

Catching sight of Frieda inside the display window, Millie snatched it from his hand and tossed it into the passenger seat. “Standing is more comfortable than sitting anyway.”

With a shrug, Albert shut the car door. “Call me if you need help. I even turned on my phone.” He patted the cell phone clipped to his belt and then headed across the railroad tracks that ran down the center of Main Street. His path intersected Fred Rightmier's approach, and Millie watched as the two shook hands and disappeared together inside Cardwell Drugstore. The jangle of the sleigh bells hanging inside the door reached her across the street just before they pulled it shut. On this sunny Saturday, no doubt the soda fountain would be full of Creekers.

She passed beneath the carved wooden arch that covered the entry and twisted the doorknob. Old and a bit creaky, the door proved stubborn and required an extra push, which Millie supplied without thinking. Ouch. The effort stressed sore muscles in her hindquarters, and she clamped her teeth against a swift intake of breath. The pain in her tailbone had receded to what she would describe as extreme soreness, but that was vastly preferable to the debilitating ache of the past two days.

Inside the store, Frieda called from the back room. “That you, Millie?”

“Yes.”

“Be right out.”

Millie pulled the door shut, gritting her teeth as she exerted enough effort to close it all the way across a splintered wooden threshold. Inside she paused a moment to take in the sight of Frieda's merchandise. She'd rearranged her potpourri of products a few months back into an artistic display of colors rather than grouping similar items together. A mistake, in Millie's closely held opinion. Though certainly decorative, the old arrangement of placing all the jewelry in one place and all the dishware in another seemed more orderly.

She passed a display shelf draped with red and silver, and ran a finger along the brim of a felt hat decorated with an impressive display of scarlet-colored feathers. Where would one wear such a thing? The Derby, perhaps?

Browns, reds, and yellows dominated the back corner, and Millie gravitated in that direction. She always enjoyed examining the hand-thrown pottery, though Frieda asked far too much for those pieces. No one who lived in Goose Creek ever bought them, but during the Fall Festival, when the town overflowed with visitors, Frieda couldn't keep them on the shelves.

“Oh!” Millie halted her approach when she caught sight of a new piece. “Oh my.”

Frieda appeared from the back room, a spray bottle in one hand and a rag in the other. “You found Chester, did you? I just got him last week. Interesting, don't you think?”

Resting on the center shelf of the pottery display was the ugliest bust of a head Millie had ever seen. The basic shape was of a jar, with a narrow opening at the top glazed to resemble a hat such as an organ grinder's monkey might wear. A huge mouth filled with uneven, yellowish teeth protruded between cracked brown lips. A large, blobby nose took up half the face, and misshapen flaps on each side served as ears. But what drew her attention were the huge round eyeballs resting inside bulging lids beneath lumps of clay painted to look like hairy eyebrows. A shudder rippled across her shoulders. Those eyeballs looked like they'd caught sight of her and were preparing to follow her home.

“
Interesting
is not how I'd describe it.” Millie turned away from the hideous statue and suppressed an urge to rub the back of her head, positive his stare was still fixed on her. “Why did you take it in on consignment? Surely you don't think anyone will buy it.”

Frieda cocked her head and examined the ghastly thing. “Oh, I don't know. He kind of grows on you after a while. I named him Chester because his ears remind me of a guy I dated in high school.” She shook her head. “Poor boy. I heard he had them docked a few years later.”

“What's the price on, uh, Chester?”

“Three hundred dollars. He's handmade, after all.”

Millie arched an eyebrow. Anyone who would pay three hundred dollars for that repulsive effigy, even if it was handmade, needed to have their own head examined.

Frieda stepped behind the sales counter and began scooting things out of the way. “I was so busy yesterday I didn't get a chance to make anything, but I'll bring over a chicken and rice casserole tomorrow after church.”

Millie rushed to answer. “Oh, please don't go to any trouble. I had almost a dozen visitors yesterday, so we have plenty of food to see us through this minor setback.”

In fact, the casserole brigade had outperformed any previous undertaking in recent memory. Their refrigerator and freezer were crammed with such a variety of dishes that Albert had threatened to throw the late arrivals in the trash bin. Among the gifts from the well-wishers were a green bean casserole, hamburger-potato casserole, tuna casserole, ham and noodle casserole, turkey tetrazzini, enchilada casserole, a lasagna, and no less than three different versions of broccoli casserole. Not to mention a pot of chicken soup, six dozen cookies, a chocolate pie, and of course Lulu's parsnip cake.

At the look of slight offense on Frieda's face, Millie added, “Of course your chicken and rice is my favorite, but I know it takes a lot of effort, and I'll be fine in a day or two. I'm already much better.”

That seemed to appease her. “So you're going to help Lulu Thacker with this historical society stuff?” Millie nodded, and Frieda went on. “I'm relieved to hear it. The celebration committee needs that money, and she'll bungle it for sure.”

Though Millie understood the concern, having observed Lulu's brash manner more than once, she felt the need to speak a word in her defense. Frieda was known to be harsh, and her gossip sometimes a bit mean-spirited.

“I'm sure she could do a fine job on her own,” she said, “but since I've already done a lot of the legwork we decided it only made sense to work together.”

“Well, I don't envy you. That woman's got some weird ways about her. And her husband too.”

Not a statement Millie could dispute, which was why she'd ventured out this morning without Lulu in tow. Best to handle the initial contacts with more tact than Lulu possessed.

She changed the subject. “Since I missed the last meeting, I wanted to stop by and make sure you understand that this Main Street Program isn't something Lulu and I can do on our own. If we're going to be approved by the state to participate in the program, we'll need the support of the city council and the majority of the town's business owners. We're meeting with the mayor Monday morning, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

Frieda paused in the act of clearing the counter, a frown on her face. “What kind of support?”

“The purpose of the program—wait a minute.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the folded paper she'd printed from the program's website last night. “
To support economic development through historical preservation. The program's efforts center on revitalizing the city's downtown area.
”

Frieda brightened. “I like that. Revitalization is what this town needs. That'll be good for business.”

Millie knew she would approve of that aspect. But the next? “There may be some things that building owners need to change, though. That's the
historical preservation
part.”

“You mean like fixing up that sagging porch awning over Wade's used bookstore, or the crumbling bricks on the Hockensmiths' harness shop?”

“Yes. It might cost some money.” Frieda's scowl returned, and Millie hurried on before she could interrupt. “But part of the benefit of being in the program is the Kentucky Heritage Council. They have all kinds of ways to help. They can walk us through the tax credit process, and other programs too. They even have architects who are experts on historical stuff and will draw up blueprints for free.”

“Well.” Frieda cocked her head to consider. “All that sounds fine, but it's gonna take some fast talking to convince Brett Hockensmith to part with a penny.” She lowered her voice and leaned across the counter. “I told them when they opened that place there wasn't enough horse business in this area to keep a tack store afloat, but would they listen?”